Unpleasantries
by ratmother
Summary: A tumble of rain and snow. SasuOro, vaguely NSFW.


Calloused hands brushed, skin against skin in a stitch of cream and alabaster. Orochimaru's hair was fluid, pooling around them in black swathes against the stark white skin. It was like snow on a roof, and then the rains fell to wash it down into the gutter. Sasuke's hair was not the same pure ebony that stained Orochimaru's; more of a charcoal black, with the sheen of a raven, a dull blue tint. The feathery bangs hung down, tickled against Orochimaru's jaw and neck, lips slightly parted as their faces were inches away from one another—

Sasuke hadn't been expecting the response. He couldn't lie about that. Orochimaru was an enigma, flickering like a candle would when you drip wax over the flame. Shrinking, flashing, and stretching up threatening to start a fire. He jumps from yes to no, struggling and then melting under the grip, yielding, and kicking out. It was impossible to tell what he wanted. The opposite was true for Sasuke, of course, though his words decieved him his actions did not. Orochimaru knew well what Sasuke wanted; dashing so often from giving it to him to holding it high out of his grasp. To what end? Sasuke didn't know. But then, who knew what Orochimaru truly wanted.

"_Sasuke-kun_. I cannot breathe."

The words were hissed tightly through a tense jaw, like a bite up at Sasuke's face a few inches above; the Uchiha almost jumped back as one would from an angered animal. His face, however, did not change; set in stone. Carved. As was his grip. Orochimaru was, of course, referring to the hand closed around his neck, the strength of the hold varying; going from a strangling grasp to a hovering touch.

"What makes you think I care," Sasuke responds, tone bored though the speech habit betrays him, the words are tense, ragged. Sturdy hips gave a sudden thrust, eliciting a gasp from the skeletal body beneath him as Orochimaru tried for air at the electric shudder that coursed through his body, trembling, back arching upwards wantonly in response. "I don't care about your comfort. I loathe you."

A heavy, purple-shadowed eye cracked open at that, the slit revealing the piercing amber glow, contrasting against the dark shadows around his eyelids and the bridge of his nose. A fine dark eyebrow raised apprehensively.

"Care to explain why you're fucking me, then?" The androgynous voice is harsh, ragged through heavy breaths, the ever-flickering eyes boring into Sasuke's pure black, drowning them, drenching in watery honey, nectar; saccharine, sickly sweet. His tone drips with it, heavy sarcasm, intent on looking through Sasuke's mask so heavily cast in painted clay, rock-hard, impenetrable. He knew very well that Sasuke didn't care about his comfort; the way he handled the Sannin was evidence enough of that. But even so.

Sasuke's eyes narrowed, voice baritone, never losing the arrogant twist on his tongue. "Because I can," he answers, thrusting again to prove his point.

"Because I'm _letting you_," Orochimaru corrected, serpentine eyes barely more than slits, voice dark. Sasuke snorted as if to say, 'bullshit', although whether or not this was how he really felt, or if truthfully he did acknowledge Orochimaru's consent- he didn't tell. Sasuke kept many secrets when the room was dark and there was a vaguely feminine sculpted lump of bones loosely stitched together with black thread like liquid. The stitches so loose they might break. Perhaps Sasuke wanted to see just how much the needlework could hold.

Though for why Orochimaru let him, Sasuke did not know. The serpent kept his own secrets. So deeply lost in the rich swathes of pooling hair and endless burning eyes, seas of honey. And, like honey, they stuck. Heavy. Even the tiniest touch remains on you for days and it collects what it can until at last the rain will wash it away. Falling hard. Dull blue. To weaken the honey and flow away the snow that clung to the black slate roof.

Orochimaru was drawn to power. In all forms. Like a fly to nectar. It was evident in the way he moaned and squirmed when Sasuke's hands pushed him and shoved. And Itachi's. And Jiraiya's.

He surrounded himself with it. And if he could not have it himself, in the thin skin he wore. Then it would be around him. He breathed it in. How sick, disgusting. Fucked up.

Like Orochimaru cared. He was well aware he had something fundamentally wrong with him. A hole. Something.

Sasuke wasn't that far gone yet. Sasuke could go either way. To light. Close the hole. Or to dark. Widen it until there's nothing left.

Orochimaru was curious.

And so Sasuke did what he wanted. The possessive gestures. Tight fingers, nails and teeth that broke skin. He really was nothing like his brother. How odd, the pair of them. How odd. Raw. Pure in the ugliest of ways.

The rains washed down the slate roof and joined the remains of the snow in the gutter,

Where it melted and the sun rose,

And they evaporated both.


End file.
